Just Try
by ThreeJays
Summary: The Night Before Prom Caroline has a visitor. It's so completely annoying. Klaus/Caroline oneshot with spoilers through the PROMO of the Prom episode - will almost surely be AU after the Prom episode. ONESHOT. Some Forwood, be warned.


_DISCLAIMER: Julie Plec and CW own all rights and I don't get (or want) profit for having fun._

_A/N: Um, so this is another Klaus/Caroline oneshot. And it happens to be another goodbye fic. It's too long, and too angsty, and I really INDULGED myself letting them bicker, so I doubt it's great. So, it's practically the same fic I last wrote (except not - It's spoiled through the PROMO of the prom episode that airs tonight), and I don't even know why anyone would want to read it, but just in case...here it is. Please, please review. It's always the reviews that make me write more! _

_UPDATE:: **Also, to the Guest who left me a rude, demanding review - these kind of reviews do NOT inspire writers to write more. I work two jobs and have a family. I don't get paid to write fan fiction, it is a hobby and I don't appreciate your demands or attitude that I owe you. I want to write and share, but I can only do it when the time and inspiration are there. Fan fiction writers do not owe anyone. That doesn't mean I'm not grateful for readers - I am HERE because of the connections I've made with readers who love these characters. My readers/reviewers are what pull me back over and over. But this review had a nasty, demanding tone. It was too far, and I had to say something. _

**Caroline's POV - Night Before Prom**

I _feel_ him before I see him. Yeah, it's a peachy little talent. Why I've never produced this sixth sense with another guy (a _normal_ guy, maybe) is beyond me.

But, no. Send a normal guy to my door and you can be sure I'll answer it in hot rollers, or he'll overhear me in the middle of some huge fight with my mom, or I don't know, you can pretty much insert your preferred method of humiliation and place your bet. Something embarrassing as all hell will happen-I promise.

But not with Klaus. That creep I can always sense before he shows up. If I actually cared, the extra warning would give me time to do something about the fact that I'm sitting on my couch wearing a serious case of I-fell-asleep-on-the-couch hair and a pair of rubber ducky pajama bottoms. But since it _is_ Klaus, my only thought is what I could possibly throw at him once he inevitably says something to piss me off.

I walk towards the front door, peering out into the darkness. I wish he'd just show up already, because this whole prickly anticipation thing is _so_ irritating there isn't even a word for it.

No. Not anticipation. Dread. Definitely dread.

I finally hear his feet on my back steps, so I fling the kitchen door open and step out to look down at him.

"Caroline," he says.

I make a noise that sounds like I might hack up a furball.

"What do you want, Klaus?" I ask. I lean back against my open door, crossing my arms over my chest as if I'm not surprised or alarmed by his presence. It's at least half true. I know we agreed to be friends, but I still have no idea how the hell that's going to work. But I'm pretty sure unannounced-night-before-prom visits are off the table.

He plunges his hands into the pockets of his jeans and his gray henley stretches tighter across his shoulders. Not that I notice.

Fine, I notice! But, hey, nobody asked me if it was a good idea to model The Antichrist after an Abercrombie & Fitch model, now did they?

God, _why_ is he here again? And why is he still just looking at me.

"Did you stop by just to stare? " I ask, hands popping to my hips.

"Well, if you don't mind-

"I mind."

I jut my jaw out like a warning, but he stares anyway. I hate it when he checks me out. He takes for-freaking-ever doing it, lingering over every inch. I swear to God, he might as well be touching me.

I push off of the door and turn for my living room. "Okay, well, no thanks for dropping by-"

"I came to tell you something," he says, and the playfulness is gone from his tone. This is the cold, calculating monster. The thing I'm afraid of.

Until I look at him, and then his face kind of pinches. Like he's worried. But what the hell would he have to be worried-

Oh God.

Tyler.

Panic grips me in a cold fist, as I try to calculate the possibility of Klaus finding him. And the things he might do-might have already _done_ to him. I feel the blood drain from my face.

"You didn't," I say, and my voice is small and flat, like it's coming from a tin can.

"No," he snaps. "Your precious Tyler is fine."

My shoulders sag in relief and his eyes go hard.

"For the time being," he adds, that cruel smirk teasing his lips.

"I hate you," I say. I almost mean it. Almost.

He brightens then, forcing a smile I know isn't real. "I think we both know we've moved past that, being _friends _and all. But it's of no consequence now, I suppose."

"First off, we haven't moved past anything. Secondly, why doesn't it matter? And get on with it, I still have prom things to do."

"I'm leaving Mystic Falls."

I don't actually process the words. They just kind of sit there between us like hieroglyphics. Or calculus equations. Might as well be Greek for all the sense it makes to me.

But then, all at once, it translates.

He's leaving.

Klaus is _leaving_.

The whole world seems to freeze in that instant. I can feel it all-the cold cement step beneath my feet, the promise of a spring storm in the air. He waits for me to say something, his face deceptively calm and sweet below me.

He's leaving.

Oh.

"Oh," I say out loud, remembering that I need to say something. That it's been way too long since someone did.

"New Orleans," he supplies, though I didn't ask. "I have a concerning...matter to attend to. So for now, my spat with Tyler will have to wait. I'm sure your elation knows no bounds."

"Oh," I say again. I think I blink too this time.

He means it. He's leaving Mystic Falls.

This is...um...great? Yes, great. Like it deserves a party, doesn't it? I could get one of those big margarita machines and maybe some streamers. I should-

"Are you ever coming back?"

I don't mean to say it. It doesn't even sound like something I'd say, and the tiny wounded voice that comes out of my mouth absolutely doesn't belong to me.

When I look at him, I can see the reflection of my shock in his eyes. I can hear it in the soft breath he takes before he responds.

"Are you asking me to come back, Caroline?"

"No!" It's too loud. Too fast. I bite my lip and wish I could have a do-over. Wish he'd just go. Or maybe that he wouldn't. God, this is the most stupid, ridiculous thing ever and it always has been and I wish I'd never ever met him.

Except I'd be dead if he didn't.

I have a vivid flash of our first real encounter, the strange smell of him in my room, the surprisingly soft flesh of his wrist under my lips. The taste-_No_. Holy crap, I am not _even _going there.

"My offer still stands," he says, but he doesn't look hopeful this time. And he doesn't elaborate. We both know he offered me the world. More than once. "I imagine it always will."

I nod, though I should laugh. I should flip my hair and do all the classic I-am-_so_-not-into-you things I always do. But I feel like I'm out of gas. There's this thin, desperate edge in the air, and God, I hate it, but this time I think it's coming from me as much as it is from him.

"Well, I wish I could say it's been good knowing you," I say, because I'm just not me if I don't poke some fun at this.

And he chuckles, though I can see it hurts him.

Klaus Secret #1? He is such a freaking girl. I mean, seriously. Things cut him so deep, I'm surprised he doesn't leave a trail of blood wherever he goes.

Suddenly, I feel his hand on my face and that part of him doesn't feel like a girl. At all.

I take a breath that's so sharp it stings. He's looking at me like I'm a map he only gets to look at once. Or like maybe it's the last time he'll ever get the chance. Because he knows it is.

"Be good to yourself, Caroline," he says.

And then he's gone.

I refuse to think about it the next day, because it is prom day. I also refuse to think about Elena, who is turning into a complete skank with her dress-stealing I-want-_both_-Salvatores ways. No, I don't think about any of the ridiculous drama. I drop two hundred dollars getting my hair, make-up and nails perfected and then I break down and shoplift a prom dress, because frankly, I'm out of cash.

And shut up, I'll return it, okay? It's not like I can do senior prom over.

It'll be a freaking miracle if I actually make it through this one without anyone getting eaten or Silas mentally screwing with someone until they light the entire town on fire or something.

I check myself in the mirror one more time before heading to the reception hall. Blonde hair upswept, pretty glossy lips, dress hugging every curve. I look pretty good.

"You do all this pretty stuff better than I ever could," Mom says, touching my shoulder oh-so-carefully, like I might break. Which we both know is a world away from the truth.

I smile at her and cover her fingers with mine. "I got my pretty from you," I say. "I also got my ability to kick ass and to terrify people with my bossiness."

"Watch it," she says, but there's no heat in her words, just love in her eyes.

I drive my own darn car, which is a bitch in my heels, but that's where my complaining ends. Everything inside the hall is beautiful. Glowing and perfect and exactly the way I want it. I can't find a single thing to complain about.

Bonnie and Matt are both smiling, Elena is keeping to the corners, where all vampire-whackjobs live, and generally things couldn't be better. The food is delicious, the decor is stunning, and the band hasn't missed a single note.

And I hate it.

I keep my bright smile in place and I dance with Matt and with a couple of the other guys from my class who tell me I look hot and blah, blah, blah. But I feel hollow all over.

"Hey, beautiful."

The voice washes over me like summer in February, warm and bright and absolutely impossible. But I turn, and it is possible. There he is: black suit, carefully tousled hair, million dollar smile.

"Tyler?"

I don't know whether to laugh or cry or attack him. I do a little of all three, my arms around his broad shoulders and my forehead pressed to him and we both laugh and cry and do this ridiculous repetitive I- can't-believe-you're here-Are-you-okay-I'm-so-glad-to-see-you thing.

The music shifts to a slow song and we kiss right there next to the dance floor. I sigh, but in truth, it feels a little forced. A little off. Whatever. It's been a weird year. And I'm in the middle of prom in this huge dress and-wait a minute, how _is_ he even here?

I push him back by his shoulders. "Tyler, how are you here?"

His eyes flicker, and I know he doesn't want to tell me. Which is why I know exactly what he's going to say next.

"Klaus."

I look around, hackles raised. "Klaus will kill you! You have to get out of here!"

Tyler's hands wrap around my arms, stilling my efforts to drag him out of the ballroom. "No. Klaus called me and told me to come home. He's leaving, Caroline. He asked me to look after you."

Klaus sent Tyler back to me. My supposedly dead heart beats like a deranged thing. The blood that doesn't even need to circulate through my body drains out of my face so fast, I feel dizzy. Weak.

"Klaus sent you here."

"He even gave me the corsage," he says, holding up a satin wrapped orchid."

Wait-he gave him the corsage?

He's not in New Orleans.

My equilibrium feels a little slippery all of the sudden. I clamp a hard hand on Tyler's arm and fake a very bright smile.

He doesn't buy it. He slips out of my grip and sighs. "And of course, that's probably a significant fact to you."

"Tyler..." I touch his face, fingers trailing down his cheeks. "My whole world is better because you're here tonight."

And I mean it. I love him. I will love Tyler Lockwood until the day I die.

But it will never be exactly as it was again. Not for me. Not for him either, I don't think.

He covers my hands with his and I take a breath. I feel Klaus in that breath, his name lingering in the air between us.

"But I need to say goodbye to him," I say.

I see the hard flare of temper in Tyler's eyes, the temptation to snap. Or maybe throw a glass. He can throw a damn table if he needs to. I get it. I really do. Part of me wants to throw things too.

But I'm still going to say goodbye.

"I know it's crazy," I tell him. "But I have to say it."

"Why? What needs to be said to someone like him?" he asks. "And why do _you_ have to say it?"

He's right. He's so damn right and I wish more than I've wished anything that it would be enough to stop me. The right and wrong here is absolutely black and white. I'm not saying Tyler is always right, but Klaus is always, _always_ wrong.

And it never matters. God, why _is_ that?

Tyler's suspicions are in his eyes when he speaks again, voice soft. "Why does it have to be you, Caroline?"

My heart feels heavy and hot in my chest as I step back from him. I will hate myself for this, but I say it anyway. "Because there isn't anybody else."

Tyler tells me he'll be here, and I swear I'll be back. We say the right things and steal a couple of soft kisses, but for once my knees don't go weak. My eyes stay wide open. For once, I'm seeing this for what it is. We are different. Our kisses are still sweet, but they aren't promises anymore.

I rush out of the dance, before I can think about it anymore. A surge of anger-white hot-goes through me. Klaus gave up Tyler. Why? Why the hell did he have to do this, this totally _decent _thing. I hate Klaus, He-Who-Lives-For-Vengeance decides to turn over a new leaf? The mix of gratitude and fury is strange and electric in my veins.

I stop a block away, realizing I'm just stomping around in my high heels, kind of aimlessly wandering. Then I call him, because I'm kind of in a five hundred dollar dress that I have to return, thank you. A hapless stroll isn't really in the cards here.

"Caroline," he says when he answers, and I know he's trying to hide the tightness in his voice. "I'm a bit busy packing, love. Is it urgent?"

I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I'd grabbed a wrap, wishing I wasn't standing in an alley behind a freaking pharmacy three doors down from the prom I've slaved over all year. I should not be here. I should not be talking to him.

But I am.

"Yes, it's urgent," I say. "Where are you?"

He sighs and I can picture him clear as day, eyes closed, head leaned back against whatever wall he's near. He's lying to me. We both know he's not packing. We both know he's sulking like a six year old because he just gave away the toy he wanted most in the whole world. Me.

"What do you want?" he asks.

"I want to say goodbye."

"Then say it."

He's right behind me. This time, I didn't feel him. But I should have known he was following me.

I open my mouth, close it, and then open it again. I keep trying, because I have to find some words. English words, preferably, but really I'll take anything. He is standing there looking ungodly perfect in his worn out jeans and that stupid gray shirt that I hate so much and all of the sudden out of absolutely nowhere, I realize some part of me will miss him.

Like _really_ miss him.

The realization hits me like a slap. And God, it's so dumb, and I don't know how I'm going to look in a mirror again knowing that this has happened to me. And even all of that doesn't make it one bit less true.

"You let Tyler come home," I say.

His fists clench and an ugly smirk mars his beautiful face. "Before you decide I've been redeemed, I should inform you that I've spent the better part of the last hour talking myself out of ripping out his heart and eating it in the middle of your perfect little prom."

"Can you _not _be vile?" I snap.

"Do you not have better places to be?" he asks, with every bit as much frost.

"Yes, I do!" I stamp and look skyward. "There are ten million better places to be than here with you, so I guess it was a huge waste of time coming out here to say thank you!"

"Well don't bother on my account, sweetheart!"

"Don't call me sweetheart!"

I growl and he whirls away from me and stomps down the alley and I watch him go, wishing he'd burst into flames or maybe-God, I can't do this anymore. I _can't_.

I close my eyes and shake my head. "Dammit, Klaus."

I hear traffic on the main road and the soft murmur of televisions in houses back in the neighborhood. I hear the music from the prom. People are dancing. I'll be dancing soon with Tyler.

I push the thoughts away and open my eyes and I see him again. I don't know if he heard me or what the hell he's doing, because he's not quite looking at me, and everything about the way he's standing - fist clenches and shoulders tight - tells me he wants to run.

And he will run. All the way to New Orleans where I might not ever see him again. I know that.

But he's not gone yet.

I know before I take off that this is the worst idea I have ever had in my entire life. And trust me, I have had some really bad ideas.

I still speed over to him in a blur, stopping a foot away from his back. He's breathing in these ragged, shaky little pants. The sound reminds me that he was human once and something about that fact goes deep into me. Deep enough to hurt.

My hand reaches for him, palm connecting to the space between his shoulder blades. His body relaxes into my touch. He sinks right back against my palm, like he's waited five hundred years for someone to touch him like this. And heck, maybe he has waited that long. Because who the hell would touch this bastard? I mean, other than me.

I bite my lip because I don't need to see his face to know the expression he's wearing. I know the effect I have on him. I've never, ever understood it, but I know.

I take a breath and steady myself. "I can't be with you, Klaus."

What. The. Hell. Did. I. Just. Say.

I feel my mouth drop open and then I let out this crazy, half-hysterical laugh, jerking my hand off of him. "Okay, clearly I am on crack because _that_ doesn't need to be said. I mean, like ever. Because it's not like that would ever be on the table. In any lifetime. You know that. You _have_ to know that."

I see the tension come into him again, his muscles bunching briefly before he relents with a sigh. "I'm well aware of my role as the villain in this particular fairy tale, Caroline."

His words light my fuse so fast, I'm surprised my hair doesn't smoke. "Don't you dare feel sorry for yourself when you picked your part!"

He spins on me then, eyes flashing. "And I suppose you think changing it up is as easy as snapping my fingers! Shall I just toss on my white hat and charge into a life of mercy and goodwill then?"

"Yes, you should! God, why do you think it's _so _bad to be a decent person!"

He laughs then, and it's a sound that gives me frostbite. "See, Caroline, I don't think that's possible. I've heard on very good authority that people who do terrible things are just terrible people."

Well...crap. I cross my arms and he watches me, all pouty and proud and God, he drives me so crazy. Because he's right. I said those exact words. Worse still, I meant them, and some part of me still does. But some other part of me wasn't convinced.

That part-the unconvinced part-has heard his real laugh and has seen him hold doors open and pour my drink first. That person has Tyler in her life again because Klaus let go. He picked me. Over himself.

It's _something_. Something weird and totally revolting, but it is _ours_, damn it! It is between us. And he's taking that something to New Orleans and I might not ever see _it_ or him again and I know it shouldn't bother me, but it does! It really, seriously does.

Oh, to hell with it.

I reach out and curl my hands around his. I can feel him tense up and take a breath, surprised by my sudden closeness.

"Try," I say my voice suddenly very low and soft. "Can't you just _try_? Kill a little less, smile a little more. Try to stop thinking about what you have to do to survive, and start thinking about the kind of person you actually _want_ to be."

He tips his chin, all relentless arrogance. "What if the person I want to be is the evil bastard I've always been?"

I throw my hands up. "You are already so stupid and stubborn-do you seriously need to add liar to the list?"

He scoffs, voice raised. "Well, I will not be your problem anymore, now will I?"

"You'll _always_ be my problem! That's the whole damn issue here, you jerk! And you can't go doing things like this, things that remind me of the good in you if you really don't care!"

"Well, next time I'm tempted, I'll be sure to rip your loverboy's heart out instead!"

"Stop it!" I practically scream, and then I go very soft, almost whispering. "Just stop."

"This is all I am, Caroline," he says and his eyes are glistening and God, it kills me how sad he is inside, how completely ripped apart and _raw_ he looks right now. Because underneath all this pretense and pomp, _this_ is who Klaus really is. "Even if I wanted to change, it's far too late."

"It's never too late. You proved that with Tyler."

Okay, screw the decision to run over here. Because this newest idea of mine? Worst plan ever.

I know that, and I kiss him anyway, and it's too late now, because the minute our lips touch, _everything_ changes.

He is so still, so _shocked_ at that first soft touch. Probably because people don't go around kissing Klaus. I mean, some people do, I guess. Drunk, compelled people or dirty werewolf ho-bags, maybe. But not people who mean it. Not people who matter.

Not me.

I really meant to make it a peck, just one quick little nothing, but I really shouldn't have done it at all, right? So, I brush my mouth against his again, and he lets out a sound I'm absolutely positive he's never made in his life. It's like a breath and a sob and a growl all rolled into one perfect little moan.

That sound is a drug. And I'm lost in it.

It all blurs into madness then. His hands are on my jaw and our tongues are involved and my knees are just...gone. I have no knees left, no legs. I'm just floating in this bubble of his lips and his taste, and his hands-skating down my ribs, ghosting over my face, cupping the back of my neck, taking care not to mess up my hair. God, he has beautiful hands.

God, why didn't I kiss him until now?

God, this is a terrible idea.

God, please don't let him stop.

I'm touching him too, his cheeks and his hair, and the hard, narrow lines of his waist. I lock my arms around his neck and pull myself closer and this kiss is _too_ deep. We are too connected, our bodies just melting together while our lips and tongues say all the scary, true things that we'll never actually talk about.

I break free, still pressed to him shoulders to knees. I am shaking. Dizzy.

"Not yet," he breathes, clutching me hard. He isn't talking about the kiss. He somehow knows I can't go on with that. Just like I somehow know he isn't ready to let go of me.

My arms stay around his waist and his stay on my face and I don't fight it. I can't. I can barely stay upright. His head drops forward until it touches mine and I feel bruised and hungry at the same time.

I don't know why I can't let him go.

And I really don't know why I'm crying.

"Oh _God_," I whisper, horrified with myself.

"Caroline," he says. The syllables fall off of his lips like a prayer. He sounds as broken as I feel.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," I cry.

"It's not a mistake," he says, and his palms grow a little stronger on my face.

"You know it is," I say.

"It would be easier if it were, wouldn't it?" he asks.

I close my eyes because I can't answer that. And really, I don't need to, because we both know he's right.

"Why did you do it? Why did you send him home?" I ask, because terrified as I am, I have to know.

I feel his lips at my jaw, and then at the tender, soft place beneath my ear. "Because I've yet to find the thing I can deny you, Caroline."

My eyes open when I feel his lips at mine again. But it is a quick, soft kiss. By the time my eyes focus, he is gone. I glance around at the empty street and my arms fall down to my sides. I feel empty all over.

I want to cry. I want to run home and crawl into my rattiest sweats and eat ice cream and write horrible poetry or something. But I can't. I have to go to prom and enjoy Tyler and keep myself pretty in this insanely beautiful dress.

I check my eyeliner in someone's car mirror and dab on some of the lipgloss I have tucked in my bra. It's not perfect, but it's good enough.

My phone buzzes and I check it absently, door already on the handle to the hall. Klaus's name pops onto the screen and his message flashes onto the screen, cutting me right to the quick.

"Less killing and more smiling? I'm really best suited to nefarious ventures, you realize."

I let out a snort of a laugh, the sound bursting out of my darkest places into the star-pricked sky overhead.

I fire back at once. "Don't care. And stop using words like nefarious."

"I will try."

I know those words weren't chosen at random. The message goes deeper than my eyes alone. They lodge somewhere inside me, in a place that threatens to make me cry. I run my thumb over the letters and then I shake it off, closing the messages and squaring my shoulders as I open the door and walk inside.

Tyler looks up across the room and I steady my gaze and smile. He will smell him on me. There's no fixing that. There's no fixing any of this, but I've survived worse decisions. I will get through this one too.

-END


End file.
